“The Cointets are proprietors of that paper, dear,” she said; “they put in exactly what they please, and it is not at all likely that the prefecture or the palace have forced their hands. Can you imagine that your old rival the prefect would be generous enough to sing your praises? Have you forgotten that the Cointets are suing us under Métivier’s name? and that they are trying to turn David’s discovery to their own advantage? I do not know the source of this paragraph, but it makes me uneasy. You used to rouse nothing but envious feeling and hatred here; a prophet has no honor in his own country, and they slandered you, and now in a moment it is all changed----” “You do not know the vanity of country towns,” said Lucien. “A whole little town in the south turned out not so long ago to welcome a young man that had won the first prize in some competition; they looked on him as a budding great man.” “Listen, dear Lucien; I do not want to preach to you, I will say everything in a very few words--you must suspect every little thing here.” “You are right,” said Lucien, but he was surprised at his sister’s lack of enthusiasm. He himself was full of delight to find his humiliating and shame-stricken return to Angoulême changed into a triumph in this way. “You have no belief in the little fame that has cost so dear!” he said again after a long silence. Something like a storm had been gathering in his heart during the past hour. For all answer Eve gave him a look, and Lucien felt ashamed of his accusation. Dinner was scarcely over when a messenger came from the prefecture with a note addressed to M. Chardon. That note appeared to decide the day for the poet’s vanity; the world contending against the family for him had won. “M. le Comte Sixte du Châtelet and Mme. la Comtesse du Châtelet request the honor of M. Lucien Chardon’s company at dinner on the fifteenth of September. R. S. V. P.” Enclosed with the invitation there was a card-- LE COMTE SIXTE DU CHATELET, Gentleman of the Bedchamber, Prefect of the Charente, Councillor of State. “You are in favor,” said old Séchard; “they are talking about you in the town as if you were somebody! Angoulême and L’Houmeau are disputing as to which shall twist wreaths for you.” “Eve, dear,” Lucien whispered to his sister, “I am exactly in the same condition as I was before in L’Houmeau when Mme. de Bargeton sent me the first invitation--I have not a dress suit for the prefect’s dinner-party.” “Do you really mean to accept the invitation?” Eve asked in alarm, and a dispute sprang up between the brother and sister. Eve’s provincial good sense told her that if you appear in society, it must be with a smiling face and faultless costume. “What will come of the prefect’s dinner?” she wondered. “What has Lucien to do with the great people of Angoulême? Are they plotting something against him?” but she kept these thoughts to herself.